


someone you like

by caela



Series: what’s that cee lo green song [1]
Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Fluff, Humor, Pining, Social Media AU, Stargazing, bc there’s a lot of it, disaster lesbian squad, how do you write short fics, instagram au, oh should i tag swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-28 05:30:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17176817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caela/pseuds/caela
Summary: catwithabatu think ur so hipster but u just look like a lesbian27mshe_ra@catwithabat bc… i’m a lesbian. lmao5mor: how calling her crush gay online got catra a date to prom





	someone you like

She shouldn’t be doing this.

 

There are exactly eighteen reasons she can think of, off the top of her head, and they’re all marked as being _23w ago._

 

_20w ago_ is casual lurking with a creepy streak. _23w ago_ means the CIA are going to knock her door down for cyberstalking. She’s a criminal in the eyes of the law and a sinner in the eyes of God.

 

She can see it now:

_Reasons for Going to Hell: Being Gay; Unironically Watching Naruto For Three Years; Cyberstalking Most Popular Girl in School (Yikes, Man)._

 

If she likes a picture, by accident, now, it’s game over for her.

 

Catra’s only been doing this for, like, ten minutes, though. She’d only found out Adora had Instagram yesterday, when she had liked one of Scorpia’s group selfies of her, Catra and Entrapta.

 

She’d originally clicked on her account to hate-read a few of the girl’s inspirational quotes she has in swirly, _aesthetic_ letters on a few of her pictures:

 

_"The wound is where the light gets in."_

_"Tomorrow is always a better day."_

_"Good times with better people."_

 

And her _captions,_ dear God:

 

_“Sometimes the best caption, is no caption at all.”_

 

“Then don’t  _put_ a caption, you  _prep,”_ she hisses at her phone screen, attracting more than a few weird stares from the kids getting ready for class. She glares right back at them, hiding her phone screen from view in the crook of her elbow.

 

She’s sitting at the back, naturally, and Adora is already seated on the front row, looking way too chipper to be doing calculus on a Monday morning, and is already talking avidly with Ms Shadow Weaver. _Total and complete kiss ass._

 

_Still, really cute though._

 

She keeps scrolling.

 

*

 

(Catra is pretty sure Adora has exactly zero idea that she’s the hottest girl in school.

 

She’s not entirely sure when it happened. She doesn’t really remember paying much attention to her until the start of the year, and they’ve never talked; not really.

 

She sees her, though, leant up against a locker, chatting with her obnoxiously loud friends and laughing with those shining, blue-blue eyes. It starts like that, with a few passing glances turning into outright staring, because _God, she is beautiful._

 

She sees her sometimes, pressed up against the wall of the school at break times, laughing; or smiling; as sunlight makes a home on her skin, and she just— _shuts down_ , a little bit.

 

She sees her when Adora offers to hand out the chemistry tests, and her hand lingers for just a second on her table as she slides Catra’s back to hers. When she looks up, she almost thinks she sees— _something_ there, caught in Adora’s eyes, before the girl is smiling and moving on.

 

She’s like, entirely too gorgeous. Entirely too everything.

 

And, it’s so, so unfortunate. Because Adora is exactly the type of girl Catra can’t stand.)

 

*

 

“Good morning, class,” Ms Shadow Weaver calls. The class makes a noise like a dying whoopee-cushion in greeting, and they begin.

 

Her name isn’t _really_ Shadow Weaver. If Catra’s honest, she doesn’t really know _what_ her name is. She’s pretty sure it’s something German, or Russian, maybe, but it sounds like _Shadow Weaver,_ and that’s pretty much all anyone calls her, anymore.

 

Catra doesn’t look up from her phone, tucks it under the table, still scrolling – _up,_ this time.

 

She checks Adora’s follower count. 12.5k.

 

_Jesus fucking Christ._ Following: 22.

 

What the fuck.

 

It’s not even that her photos are that good. Well, they _are_ good, in a completely instagrammy, post-modern way – sunsets and calligraphy and fitness videos and _very clearly posed_ photographs with friends.

 

But, they’re not really anything more than that.

 

There’s one that’s pretty obviously modelled. She’s perched on some bust-up old sedan, with her friends – Row and Swimmer, or whatever the fuck their names are. And they look… cool, she’ll admit. Sort of. But they also look like they belong on the Pride Month copy of _Vogue_ _Magazine._

 

And she’s pretty sure they’re all straight. So, that’s… weird.

 

She scrolls, finds a picture from two weeks ago. This one’s just of her, sitting on the beach, looking sun-kissed and windswept, hair mussed, smile on her lips, and she’s like… _perfect._ Totally, and utterly perfect.

 

But, she’s wearing some baggy flannel. And she’s silhouetted by a _rainbow._

 

And, it’s like, _come on._

 

Catra can’t resist. Actually, she can. She resists typing what she really wants to say several times:

 

_oh my god there’s literally no way that someone like you exists_

_a smile like that should be made illegal_

_literally please have my babies even though it’s biologically impossible_

Finally, she finds the words that sum it all up, settles for:

 

**catwithabat** u think ur so hipster but u just look like a lesbian

 

She wonders, very briefly, if this constitutes as a hate crime. But, she’s gay. She’s _allowed_ to say it. She thinks that’s how it works. She hits send. A few minutes go by.

 

And then, what she’s just done hits her with the force of a pickup truck on a highway.

 

_Oh shit._

 

She should delete it. She should _definitely_ delete it. She just told an honours roll student that she looked gay. As an insult. Kind of. In 2018.

 

Shadow Weaver’s still going at it, as if she doesn’t realise Catra’s world is currently ending. “ _So, in order to deduce the x factor…”_

 

Catra drums her hands on her thighs. If she deletes it now, that will seem… weird. Like she’s rude _and_ an absolute coward. Maybe she can pass it off as a joke. It _was_ a joke. But she’s never spoken to Adora before.

 

Maybe Adora will _cry._

 

Oh no.

 

She should definitely delete it. She checks her phone. How many comments did that picture have? _123._ Most of them were thirst-comments from weird guys - the price you pay for not having your account on private. Adora hasn’t responded to any of them, so far.

 

So, maybe she’s just decided not to read comments; it’s an old picture, really; maybe—

 

In the front of the class, Adora gives an unholy _snort._ Ms Shadow Weaver stops speaking.

 

“Adora, dear, are you alright?” she asks. Adora looks like she’s having a hard time not keeling over. Her face is the colour of beetroot.

 

“Yes,” she chokes out. _“Yes,_ yes. Sorry—sorry, Miss. I have a—um, cold?” her voice sounds strained, “Please, continue.”

 

But, when Shadow Weaver turns to write something on the board, Adora twists around in her seat. She looks around for a couple seconds. Then, she catches sight of Catra. She throws her a grin. Then, very slowly and deliberately, she raises a middle finger.

 

Catra gapes.

 

When Shadow Weaver turns around, Adora is the only person doing the equations on the board.

 

“Well? What are you all doing? Get on with your work!”

 

The class is completely silent; stunned.

 

“Did that just happen?” Rogelio whispers, “did _Adora_ just…?” Catra’s jaw is threatening to dislocate itself. She clamps it shut, says only:

 

“I didn’t know she used her phone in class.”

 

*

 

When she gets out of first period, her phone is vibrating aggressively in her hand. The first texts are from Scorpia and Entrapta, about leaving school early to pick something up. The next…

 

**she_ra** @catwithabat bc… i’m a lesbian. lmao

_just now_

 

Oh. _Oh no._ Catra closes her eyes, tight. She wants to cheer. She wants to write a couple love poems, maybe. But, she also wants to cry. This was _not_ how she wanted to find out that Adora, of all people, was gay. Finally, forcing herself to stay cool, she replies:

 

**catwithabat** oh. cool. me too.

_just now_

 

_Translation: Please don’t report me to Principal Hordak for homophobic cyberbullying._

 

Adora doesn’t reply. She doesn’t expect her to.

 

*

 

She tries to ignore the feeling of Adora’s eyes on her for the rest of the day.

 

She’s probably glaring at her, or something.

 

*

**Scorpia**

 

Hey! Come over.

why

We bought scented candles ;)

what

why

It’s a surprise ;)

fine

_Seen 5:28PM_

*

 

Scorpia’s mom lets her in when she arrives.

 

Entrapta’s already in her room when she gets there. She can hear the pair of them talking as soon as she gets onto the second floor. She knocks, tentatively.

 

“Hey, it’s me. Are you guys decent?” She does _not_ want a repeat of last time.

 

It’s silent for a moment, before Entrapta calls out, “I guess that depends on your moral perspective on—”

 

_“Are you wearing clothes?”_

 

Entrapta pauses. “Oh. Yeah.”

 

“OK, good.” She opens the door, and— “Holy shit.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“You weren’t kidding about the scented candles.”

 

“I’m pretty sure we’re Bath and Body Works’ favourite customer now,” Scorpia smiles, from the floor.

 

It stinks. That’s the first thing. Every surface is choked with the flickering glow of scented candles. It smells like wood smoke and lavender and oranges and it’s _probably-definitely_ going to trigger Catra's asthma. Scorpia sits in the middle of the room, sketching with chalk into the hardwood of her bedroom floor.

 

At Catra’s _look,_ she shrugs, “Entrapta found a Ouija board in her mom’s closet. I found some healing crystals in my mom’s desk. One thing led to another…”

 

“Right.” _Right._ “I brought Pepsi.”

 

Entrapta’s head perks up. Scorpia gives a little _whoop_ , “This is why I love you, buddy.”

 

They get about ten minutes into whatever the fuck it is they’re doing, before it comes up:

 

“So, I heard about what happened with Adora,” Scorpia begins, almost casually, but _not quite._ They’re setting up the Ouija board, and Catra only rolls her eyes.

 

“Nothing _happened_ with Adora,” not quite true, but, “It was a joke.”

 

“A straight A-student, and _literal embodiment of sunshine,_ flipped you off in calculus class,” Entrapta snorts, _“something_ happened with Adora.”

 

_Straight A-student? More like—_ “Just, drop it, OK? I want to talk to some demons.” She does’t want to talk to some demons, but she places her fingers on the planchette, and looks at the other two, expectantly. Scorpia shrugs; claps her hands together; and the three begin.

 

Scorpia speaks first: “OK, demons, are you there?”

 

_NO_

 

“Catra, stop moving the planchette.” Catra groans, and Scorpia continues, _“Demons,_ this is my _mom’s_ house, so I _know_ you’re there. What is your name?”

 

The planchette moves, and this time:

 

_S-H-A-D-O_

 

“Catra, stop moving the planchette!” Scorpia says again, but there’s a touch of real fear in her voice.

 

“I’m not!”

 

_-W-W-E-A-V-E-R_

 

Silence stretches. Finally, Catra summons the courage to speak:

 

“I fucking _knew_ calculus was cursed.”

 

Entrapta snorts.

 

*

 

The next day, she’s cornered by about twenty people before first period.

 

_“What’d you do?”_

_“What’s your secret?”_

_“I had no idea you were friends with her.”_

 

“What the fuck are you guys talking about?” she asks, when _as usual_ nobody bothers to explain anything to her.

 

Lonnie steps forward into the ring of kids, pointing an accusatory finger at her, “Why the hell is _Adora_ following you on Instagram?”

 

Catra stares at her, blankly. “She’s not,” she says, finally. “She’s not. It’s a glitch, probably, or—”

 

“It’s not. I asked her,” Kyle pipes up, “she says it wasn’t a mistake.” Catra stares at him, too.

 

“Well, then, _she’s_ glitching— _I don’t know!”_   What the hell? She checks her notifications. Instagram is muted, since the _trauma_ of yesterday, but – she opens it up; checks her feed – she’s had a huge swell of notifications since yesterday.

 

It starts:

 

_18h ago_ **she_ra** started following you!

_18h ago_ **b.o.w** started following you!

_16h ago_ **glitter_glim** started following you!

 

But in those eighteen hours, she’s gained 50 followers. _64 new likes. 12 new comments._

 

“Adora’s only following, like, _20_ people. And one of them is _Vice Principal Angella,”_ Seahawk tells her, looking thunderstruck.

 

“That’s only because they do pilates together on Tuesdays,” someone pipes up, “and plus she’s Glimmer’s mom—”

 

“Another one is just the fan account she made for her horse—”

 

“It’s _swift, underscore, wind_. It’s kind of funny—she keeps posting about horse revolutions—”

 

Lonnie cuts them all off with a wave of the hand. _“Look,_ if she meant to follow you, why are you so surprised? Aren’t you guys friends, or something?”

 

Catra is too stunned to say anything – only shakes her head, mutely.

 

*

 

She doesn’t get the chance to corner Adora that day. Or the next.

 

Or, yes, she has the chance, she has _numerous chances,_ but she… doesn’t. It just feels like such a weird thing to corner someone about – what’s Catra going to say? _“How dare you follow me when I never even liked one of your posts; when we’ve never spoken before in our lives”?_

 

It still feels weird, though. She thinks it’s probably going to keep feeling weird no matter what Catra does about it.

 

Finally, she shrugs, says _fuck it,_ and does the unthinkable.

 

She follows Adora back.

 

*

 

It happens two days later.

 

*****

**she_ra**

hey :)

 

*

 

Catra gives herself a minute to stare at the message flashing in white on her phone screen. Before she remembers who she is and what her name is and that _fingers can type._

 

*

 

hi

*

 

_Smooth._

 

*

 

They go from there.

 

They talk, like, a lot. Like _, a lot_ a lot.

 

It’s weird, really, because they _don’t_ talk offline. Sure, there’s the occasional secretive smile here and there, when someone references something they’ve joked about, but it’s mostly just, _awkward,_ for lack of a better word.

 

Because, they get to the point online of sending each other cat memes and stock images and venting a little at 3AM, but their only communication in the real world is… Adora giving her the middle finger. _Once._

 

Maybe it’s better like this. Maybe it’s better if they don’t talk.

 

*

**she_ra**

 

wuu2

…do people still say that lmao

im in paris

no you’re not

yes i am

here i’ll send proof brb

[img.snt]

pics ^^

that’s just a picture of the eiffel tower

yeah that’s where im at rn

it’s watermarked

yeah?? whats ur point

hello???

 

*

 

It only takes a few days for people to find the comments.

 

When it _comes out_ (for lack of a better word), Rogelio can’t contain his laughter. “If I’d known _calling Adora gay online_ would get her to follow me back, I would have done it years ago.”

 

Catra can only shrug. “Guess I’ve cracked the code, then.”

 

*

 

The closest they come to communicating like normal people is the Monday two weeks after their first, _disaster_ communication.

 

Scorpia gets to school early with her, and Adora is there – of course. She’s on her own, though, as she shovel-drives books into her locker. Scorpia’s voice echoes too loud in the near-deserted corridor.

 

“Hey, so, can we try that thing we did two weeks ago again?” Catra’s taking her things from her locker – hears Adora slow whatever it is she’s doing as Scorpia says this, “look, I’ve been thinking about it, and I don’t think we tried hard enough to _connect_ with it, last time—”

 

It suddenly occurs to Catra how weird this will sound to someone who didn’t know they were _trying to talk to ghosts_. Her eyes flick to Adora’s, and find they’re already locked on her. There’s a flash of _something,_ there, before her eyes shutter, and her face freezes over, and she can’t read a thing from her. 

 

“—And I mean,” Scorpia carries on, oblivious, “Listen, I know you _hated_ the scented candles last time, but I sort of think it adds to _the mood_ of it, so—”

 

Catra cuts her off, quickly, “Scorpia, I’m not going to try and summon demons with you again.” _Summon demons. Nothing else._ She catches the surprise on Adora’s face, followed quickly by something like— _what? Relief? Amusement?_ She has no idea.

 

“Aw. But it’s not as fun when it’s me and Entrapta,” she says, “or, no, _it is._ But, there’s nobody to tell us to _stop pissing our pants_ or that we’re _crying like babies_ or that it’s _not real, dumbasses_. So, it’s, like, terrifying. Plus, you’re, like, 80% of our impulse control.”

 

Catra rolls her eyes; smiles as she leans back against her locker. 

 

“You guys have a Ouija board?” Adora asks, from the other side of the corridor. Scorpia stops talking, whips around to stare at her.

 

Catra just nods. “Yeah. Entrapta found one in her mom’s closet.” Adora _snorts_ , and— _Jesus, that is such a cute sound, is that even legal?_

 

“Well, good luck with that,” she says, but the _way_ she says it. It doesn’t sound like the end to a conversation. It hangs in the air, held there like by a crackling _something._

 

“Thanks,” Catra says, finally. Neither of them have moved.

 

Scorpia claps her hands. “Well!” she says, and it echoes too loud. Scorpia winces, “We should get going to... yeah."

 

“Yeah,” Catra nods, tries to shake herself; turns and doesn’t look back, “Yeah. Let’s go.”

 

*

**she_ra**

how was demon hunting

the demon’s name is chelsea, now, apparently

nice

and we’re not

like

hunting it

just… befriending it

you guys should get featured on

buzzfeed unsolved – supernatural

i don’t know if that’s a

compliment or not but i would

literally rather eat glass

than get featured on buzzfeed

fair enough tbh lmao

 

*

 

“You should just ask her out,” Scorpia tells her, one Sunday. They’re parked out in some forest just off the SH 11, and Entrapta’s new prototype satellite is twitching in the back of Scorpia’s pickup truck. It’s open sky above them, stars dripping into each other in the inky black.

 

“No— _move it slightly to the right_ —I’m not going to _ask her out,”_ Catra says, as they fiddle with the remote control. “Entrapta, can you get her to leave off me for like, five minutes?”

 

“I actually agree with Scorpia on this one,” Entrapta says, as she holds with the control system with one hand, while the other reaches for Scorpia’s.

 

“Not _you,_ too. Look, I get that you guys are—“ she glances over at the pair of them, nestled in the front seats, hand in hand now, “ _—domesticated_ , but can’t you just let me be bitter and single?”

 

Scorpia shakes her head. “We could, when you were, like, twelve, and hated everyone and everything that wasn’t Chipotle. But… it’s _obvious_ she likes you. And if you ask her out—well, _you may be saving her from a fate worse than death.”_

 

“What are you two on about, now?” she asks, distractedly. She spins the dial of the radio, testing for stations. It’s all crunchy static, crackling through the car. She sighs, leans back into the backseat, and Scorpia carries on:

 

“If you ask her out, you might be saving her from _The College Girlfriend,”_ she explains. And, something about the way she says it lets Catra know that _College Girlfriend_ are words to be capitalised.

 

Catra raises her eyebrows. “What the hell is that?”

 

Scorpia carries on like she hasn’t spoken, “She’ll be called _Milly,_ or _Mary,_ or _Molly,_ and she'll eat avocado with a spoon like it's yoghurt—“

 

_“And,”_ Entrapta adds, “she’ll be a vegan; or a pollotarian—”

 

Catra wrinkles up her nose. “What's a poll- _pollotarian?”_

 

Scorpia shrugs. _“No one knows._ But, she’ll use Pinterest and Etsy unironically, and get super jealous if you and Adora ever text each other, and they’ll have a three-year-long relationship with a terrible sex life, before realising that they _just weren’t right_ for each other, and you and Adora will meet up in four years’ time and she’ll say – _hey, this is going to sound so weird, but I had such a big thing for you in high school._ And then you’ll remember this conversation and just… _lose it_ and—“

 

“This is getting weirdly specific,” Catra says, sceptically.

 

Scorpia shrugs, puts up her hands. “It happens to the best of us.”

 

“Look, she’s an honours roll student. She’s probably going to fuck off to Harvard the first chance she gets.” The words are harsh, but Catra really is just being honest. She wouldn’t blame her.

 

Scorpia opens her mouth as if to say something, but finally the radio flicks on. A man is talking lowly against the hum of static.

 

“Is it aliens?” Entrapta asks, hopefully, “Or the CIA? Or a ghost?”

 

Scorpia leans forward, presses her mouth to the car radio. “Chelsea? Is that you?” she whispers.

 

Catra rolls her eyes, leans in to listen. “No— I’m pretty sure it’s CBS.”

 

“Aw,” Entrapta leans back in the front seat, “I _hate_ that station.”

 

*

 

The breakthrough happens in slow motion.

 

It’s Saturday, and she’s lying on the wall of Scorpia’s backyard, arching her back like a cat in the sun. “She’s amazing, though. She’s like—” she stretches out her arms; falls silent. She can’t think of a simile that would even come close to describing Adora.

 

Entrapta’s playing with the screws of a mechanical hand she’s attempting to build. Scorpia leans back against a workbench; takes a cautious sip of her lemonade, “You know, I’m pretty sure you said she was _the most basic person to ever walk the face of the earth_ , what, like, two months ago?”

 

Catra doesn’t even bother denying it. “Yeah, I did.”

 

She hadn’t been… _wrong,_ exactly. Adora still likes trashy quotes and The Breakfast Club; she still hangs fairy lights in her room and takes artsy photographs; she still collects enamel pins like dads collect coins or stamps. She was still a horse girl in middle school.

 

But, the word _basic_ has lost its edge. Adora likes the pretty; the positive; the softer things. And that’s nice. Catra would have to be the Grinch to fault someone for that.

 

“You could invite her, if you like,” Entrapta tells her, finally. At Catra’s questioning glance, she explains, “to Stargazing Sunday.”

 

Catra sits up, “you sure you’re OK with that?” The three of them – Entrapta; Scorpia; Catra - have _things._ Patterns. She doesn’t want to break that; for Entrapta, even for something like this.

 

Entrapta shrugs. “We could try it. If it’s not— _too much_ , then, it might be fun. She could invite Bow and Glimmer. They’re—nice.” She smiles, nervously, “I’d like to. I’d like to see you happy.” It feels honest. Catra jumps off the wall, smiles at her.

 

“Thanks, Entrapta,” she says, softly, “I’ll ask her. We’ll— _we can try it.”_

 

*

 

**she_ra**

 

hey

are you free on sunday

yh!! why??

my friends and i are meeting up

we’re going stargazing

at the beach

ohh

that sounds awesome

kinda

you could invite bow and glimmer

if you wanted to come, that is

yh, i’ll ask them xx

 

*

 

They’re free, as it turns out, and they agree to carpool on the trip there.

 

Bow says he’ll buy the drinks, Glimmer’s going to bring her speakers, and Adora brings the snacks, naturally.

 

 *

 

**Entrapta**

 

 Hey.

 Tell them not to bring weed, please.

ok dw

_Seen 19:29_

*

**she_ra**

 

hey

don’t know if you were going to

but don’t bring weed

haha obvi lol

dw i wasn’t gonna

wait brb

 

*

**Glimmer**

glimmer u werent gonna bring weed right

_Seen 04:20am_

glimmer don’t bring weed.

_Seen 04:22am_

glimmer istg

_Seen 04:26am_

GLIMMER

_Seen 04:29am_

*

 

They pick them up in the parking lot of some dodgy-looking 7/11. Bow’s carting bags of drinks; Glimmer’s texting, face lit by the white-blue glow of her phone. They’re dressed in more denim than Catra thinks she has in her closet altogether, but they look… good. Like, _really_ good.

 

_Damn models' genes._

 

Adora - they have to pick up from her house. Her sister, Perfuma, won’t let her out without seeing the people who she’s going “stargazing" with. She says the word “stargazing” like she won’t buy it in a million years, but she still is letting her go. So, Adora rolls her eyes and waits as a girl who looks like a California beach babe talks to Scorpia, asks the usual questions – _what time will you guys be home; you’ll drive her, right; you get her home safe; oh, are you single_ \- before letting her go.

 

“Sorry about that,” Adora says, as she slides in next to Catra; squeezing past Bow and Glimmer to do so.

 

Catra shrugs, makes room for her. “It makes sense.”

 

The drive there is mostly spent staring out the window, as the satellite dish picks up snatches of song and streams it onto the radio. It’s a tight fit, with four people in the backseats, and – at some point, Adora’s hand knocks into hers. And maybe it would have been awkward, if they had pulled apart – if one of them had jerked away like they’d been burnt in the typical, awkward-teen-thing.

 

But neither of them do that.

 

Instead, Adora rests her head on the dip in Catra’s shoulder; breathes soft into the crook of Catra’s neck; and takes her hand – tangles their fingers together.

 

Adora's fingers are calloused; they’re not baby soft or anything, but they’re—they’re _nice,_ nice in a way that fills her chest up. She has freckles on the line of her knuckles, and Catra runs her thumb along them, quietly; feels Adora still at the touch.

 

Catra rests her own head on Adora’s, presses her lips feather-light into her hair, and she feels Adora smile against her collar bone.

 

It’s a silent ride, after that.

 

*

 

The telescope is in the back of the pickup truck, and it takes a few of them to lift it up and out. They’re parked twenty feet or so away from the shore, from the place where the waves crash; meet the sand.

 

Adora has brought her camera, steals snapshots of everyone when their back is turned, runs her eyes through each of them – every single one.

 

They manage to get the satellite to play a single station, and it’s all eighties tunes that crackle through the cold air. Catra watches as Entrapta tells Glimmer and Bow all about the different constellations that live in the sky. They don’t seem to mind – they’re interested; _nice._

 

She smiles, and – at one point or another – feels that it’s safe enough for Adora and her to slip away. So, they do, quiet-like, hand-in-hand. They walk along the shore, searching for sea shells, feel the laughter from their camp become a faraway thing.

 

“Why do you always take photos, anyway?” Catra asks to the roar of waves. Because it seems like she does - her camera is with her, always; her Instagram is bursting with pictures.

 

Adora laughs, “What? Since when does a millennial need a reason to take photos?”

 

Catra rolls her eyes, half-smiles, “You’re not a millennial; _Gen Z._ C’mon, I wanna know.”

 

They sit, a little way’s away from where the sand becomes too damp, and their fingers aren’t quite touching, but it’s a close thing – a hair’s breadth away.

 

“I guess,” she says, finally, “I guess… so much of my life is good, right now. I want to catch hold of it any way I can, I want to see all the best things. I want to look for them.” She takes a breath, before continuing, “I was adopted. I never knew my parents. I just—“ she curls closer in on herself, hugs at her knees a little, “I don’t know.”

 

After a long while, Catra speaks, “I got bounced around for years, before I found my home here.” At Adora’s questioning glance, she smiles, wryly, “Foster bullshit. Not worth getting into.” They’re silent for a long time, and it feels like the worst is over, like it’s out there, confessions caught in sea foam, fizzing into sand.

 

“Do you want to go back?” Catra asks her, finally.

 

“No,” Adora says, softly, “not right away.”

 

So they don’t. They just—sit there, and sometimes they talk, and sometimes they don’t, and it’s lazy; they’ve got all night. They’ve got until the stars slip away. They have until tomorrow.

 

She learns things. She learns that Adora is a Virgo, and she wants to study photography at uni, but will probably take medicine. She learns she went to her first Pride parade when she was thirteen; that she came out when she was twelve. She learns other, weirder things, too:

 

“You’re going to laugh,” Adora says into the sand, face fire truck red.

 

“I won’t.” It’s a promise.

 

“I—” she stalls, pauses, drags a finger into the sand in an arching heart, _“I’ve—kind-of-sort-of had a crush on you since middle school,”_ she says the words in one garbled exhale, and it takes Catra a moment to hear them. Then, it takes her about ten more to process them. “It’s just—I really fucked up when I flipped you off, before, but I just—"

 

Catra’s mouth twitches. What. _What._ Adora looks outraged. “You _said_ you wouldn’t laugh!” It’s the shock, really. It’s just that— _what._

 

Catra opens her mouth to say anything— _anything._ But, what comes out is this… _giggle._ Catra does not _giggle_. Catra has never _giggled_ in her life. _Giggling_ is for straight girls with styled hair that they can wind around their fingers, with boys they think are _so-totally-cute-or-whatever._

 

Still, she giggles. Adora looks more than a little put-out, now; looks embarrassed, “I wasn’t—I just—“

 

Catra finally finds words, remembers how to use her mouth. “I’m not… I’m  _not_ laughing at you. It’s just—“ and she laughs _again,_ as she pulls Adora down to her, kisses her and cradles her jaw with sandy hands, and she just can’t stop smiling against her mouth, as Adora’s hands wind up around her neck, into her hair, because _this is the best thing, Adora is the best thing._

 

Catra learns that the worst way to fall for someone is like this – a slow, starry thing that will have her caught for a long time, maybe forever; she has no idea.

 

_I wish you had stayed in my Instagram feed,_ she wants to think but doesn’t. Because it’s better when it’s real, when Adora’s hands are in her hair and it’s wordless and it’s soft and it’s warm and it’s constant and it’s _not going anywhere,_ right now.

 

They have until morning.

 

*

 

**she_ra**

so

like

prom

prom

yeah

are you like

going with anyone?

no

i was thinking of tagging along

with entrapta and scorpia

oh

i was thinking of tagging along

w/ bow and glimmer

cool :)

 

*

 

Smiley Face. Fucking _smiley-face?_ She regrets it as soon as she sends it. Her hands are shaking, just a little, now. _Please go where I hope this is going,_ she silently begs.

 

*

**she_ra**

 

we could

like

not do that, though

yeah

we could.

we could?

we could.

 

*

 

They did.

 

**fin**

**Author's Note:**

> [the ouija board scene](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PgthTuEbPvc) and [the demon living in scorpia’s mom’s house](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lSLSjqgzfwo)
> 
> edit: thank you all so much for your amazing feedback!!


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